Forgotten
by IndependenceDayChild17
Summary: Sometimes Willow wondered what had happened to the perky, redheaded sophomore, but most of the time, she forgot she had existed.
1. Chapter One

The LA Dollhouse was just waking from its nighttime slumber, but already the person Willow hadn't wanted to see was down below her, a clam peaceful expression plastered on her face, that Willow hadn't ever thought could exist there. The serene environment seemed to suit the Doll, but in the back of her mind Willow was disgusted by what she saw. This was no place for a Slayer, but the Slayer in question didn't seem to know that.

Willow looked around, other Dolls were beginning to wake, and Willow saw the friendly, amiable smile fall easily into place on the Slayer's face as she said hello to the others, their expressions matching hers. Willow found herself wondering again if the Slayer really knew what was happening, and how pissed she'd be when she woke up.

"Ms. Rosenberg?" A female voice broke through her thoughts from behind her, and she turned quickly.

"Yes," Willow responded, her eyes wanted to turn away from Adelle DeWitt, back to the Slayer, but his words stopped her. '_They can never know, Willow._'

"Are you ready for the demonstration?" DeWitt asked.

Willow heard herself say yes, even as she thought no. She followed DeWitt into the small room, even as every fiber in her being told her to run away, and she stood silently, passively as they brought the girl in, even as she wanted to fight them and help the Doll remember her past.

"It's time for your treatment, Sierra." DeWitt was saying, and Willow thought she recognized the doll, one of the ones the Slayer had said hi to.

"I try to be my best." She heard Sierra say, and Willow almost laughed ruefully to herself. She briefly wondered what she would have done if they had brought the Slayer up instead. She heard someone respond to the Doll, but she was to lost in her own thoughts to notice what it was.

It took her a few moments too long to notice that everyone was staring at her, waiting for something. "Ms. Rosenberg, we were told you had the wedge." DeWitt said calmly. Willow heard her self make a small sound, and pulled out the wedge from her purse. She handed it to DeWitt, who passed it off to a young, blonde man who was fidgeting. It hurt her eyes to look at him.

After that, Willow wasn't sure what happened, but she knew it would have been the same thing that always happened. The Doll sat in the chair, the wedge inserted, and after the chair was leaned back, a small gasp would have escaped the Doll's mouth. Willow could remember none of it. All she remembered was the look on the Active's face when she opened her eyes.

Confusion. "Willow?"

And then Willow had smiled, for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "I'm right here, baby." She said.

"Wh - What's going on Will? Wh - Where are we?" the Active looked around, and for a moment, Willow forgot that the Active wasn't actually the real thing. She strode over to her, purposefully, and without thinking, rapped her arms around the woman and kissed her, long, tenderly, lovingly, forcefully.

And when she pulled away, she was smiling, even though she knew that the Doll wasn't the woman.

Sierra giggled. "Will, this is kinda public don't you think." Willow looked around, everyone in the room seemed to want to be looking elsewhere, but their eyes always fell back to her, sitting on top of the Doll in the chair.

"Ms. Rosenberg, if you would like a moment, I'm sure that – " DeWitt began.

"No," Willow knew what she was doing now; the moment was over. "No, thank you, but I need to be moving on."

Willow stood up, and quickly kissed the Active one last time. "I love you." She whispered.

The Doll looked at her, confusion evident. "I know." A pause. "Willow, wh – what's g-g-going on?"

"It's time for your treatment." Willow heard someone say. She was standing against the wall again. The doll was talking to her, but Willow tuned her out. There were just some things that Willow couldn't hear a Doll say.

She didn't remember the wipe, but it was probably like the others. The Active sat in the chair, the wedge inserted, and after the chair was leaned back, a small gasp would have escaped the Doll's mouth. She didn't want to remember, so it was gone, just like so many other things that Willow didn't remember now, or so she had convinced her self.

She had tried to leave before it happened, but her body had stopped responding to her commands, and she had barely gotten off the wall before it was said. "Did I fall asleep?" The Doll asked, so unemotionally.

And just like that, Tara was gone.


	2. Chapter Two

Willow fled from the room, faster than she should have. DeWitt followed, a concerned look on her face, but Willow turned away, looking back out on the Dolls in their house. The Slayer was there still, saying hello to a few other Dolls. Willow closed her eyes.

"Ms. Rosenberg, is everything alright?" DeWitt walked closer, and Willow could feel the hand that was about to touch her should, before it fell away.

Willow cleared her throat. "Yes. Yes, I, um, need to talk to Dr. Saunders. Is she around?" Willow didn't want to do this either, but he had asked her, the sad look in his eyes, and she had had no way to say no.

DeWitt nodded, and led her down some stairs, closer to the Slayer, but so far away. Willow wondered if she would ever see her again; ever see any of them again.

The doors slid open, and Willow stepped through. DeWitt followed, calling for Dr. Saunders. She appeared in the shadows. "Dr. Saunders, this is Willow Rosenberg, from Wolfram and Hart." Willow still shuddered when anyone said it.

Willow heard the woman say something snide as she walked from the shadows, but the meaning was lost when she saw her face. Willow had been told what happened to her, but seeing it was something different entirely. For a second, Willow forgot his words. "Fred."

The two other women stared at her. DeWitt looked surprised, suspicious, and a little annoyed, but Fred, or Illyria, or Dr. Saunders looked confused. Willow turned to DeWitt, "Can I have a moment alone with Dr. Saunders please?"

DeWitt stared at her, looking into her eyes, but seemed not to find what she was looking for. She nodded curtly and left, her heels softly clacking on the wood. Willow turned back Dr. Saunders, mumbling slightly, "What happened?"

Dr. Saunders heard, and grimaced, contorting her already contorted face. Willow felt like crying. "Is there something you wanted, Ms. Rosenberg?" The look on her face told Willow she was upset by Willow's comment.

"I . . . I just came to, to check up on you. Not, like, because you're bad, because you're not, but because, like, Angel, he, you don't know, and I didn't want to, but . . . Fred." Willow stopped herself.

Dr. Saunders looked even more confused. "You, um, you said that before. Who is Fred?"

Willow opened her mouth, trying to think of what to say, but then Dr. Saunders seemed to understand. "Me." She said dryly. "I'm Fred." She looked toward the door, where DeWitt's shadow could be seen. "I see. Why are you here, Ms. Rosenberg?"

"I . . . was told come check on you, to make sure you were alright."

"Do I look alright?" She didn't give Willow a chance to answer. "No, and I never will again. At least I know what I am now. Whiskey. Did you know her too?" Willow felt her mouth open, but she was cut off again. "Of course you did. Who told you to come check on me, someone who didn't want to come himself, someone from my past, someone who – "

"Someone who cares about you." Willow said forcefully. "I care about you too, and he has other people to care about. He wanted to come himself, but it would look too suspicious. You, and Faith, and Angel, in the same house, they would notice."

Dr. Saunders shook her head. "But not you?" She laughed, manically, and Willow was concerned for her sanity, but then she was supposed to be a goddess.

"I'll tell him how you are. I'm sorry that things happened like they did, Dr. Saunders. I wish you knew who you were." Willow said. She turned around, trying to get out of the room, but before she left she turned one last time. Her head was tilted to one side, curiosity evident, the blue eyes staring her down as if she could freeze her with one look. And then it was gone, and the broken Dr. Saunders collapsed to the floor.

Willow burst through the door, and ran into the Slayer. "Oh, I'm sorry." The Doll said; innocent bliss marked by concern on the face, so familiar. "Are you alright?"

"Echo," Willow heard DeWitt's voice as she continued to stare at the face of the Slayer. "Why don't you go for a swim?" Willow continued to stare at the Doll, who stared right back, ignoring DeWitt.

"Do I know you?" The Doll said unknowingly, Willow couldn't respond. This was the face that had been ready to kill her so many years ago, that had helped her save Angel, and return his soul, led the potentials, however disastrous it might have been, and stood there next to them when they had saved the world.

DeWitt had said something else, and pulled Faith away from Willow, gently. "I try to be my best." She said, looking straight at Willow, as if she knew who she was.

And then she was gone.


	3. Chapter Three

The Wolfram and Hart tower still scared Willow every time she entered. She knew that by now, the Senior Partners probably didn't care what she did. That's why she was free to visit the Dollhouse every once in a while. In fact, they would probably find it suspicious if she didn't, every other executive seemed to. The knowledge didn't make her feel any better.

"Ms. Rosenberg, there are twenty messages for you, most involving some sort of demonic transaction, I didn't ask, four from legal, two from Witch Resources, and one from Mr. Angel." Willow barely heard her secretary. A vampire that Angel had hired for her, Ginger, or Tanya, or maybe it was Betty. Willow couldn't remember.

"Thank you." She replied, slamming her office door in the secretary's face with a thought. She collapsed into her rolling chair, and closed the shutters of the office with another thought. She sat there for a moment, trying to convince herself not to move, but it was too much effort, and she found herself rolled over to the liquor cabinet, a drink already poured.

She tried for another minute to not drink it, but it was no use, and the worst part was that it had been three weeks, and Angel would know. She sat there, drinking and wallowing, allowing her brain to be dulled. She briefly thought of a young redhead, who would never have taken a sip of any alcohol, but she wasn't young any more. She wasn't even a redhead now.

Willow looked at her reflection in the window, and wondered if anyone would recognize her when the contracts were up. Where the red hair had been, pure black had replaced it, the smile had withered away to an almost permanent frown, and the sparkle had left her eyes. She wondered how Kennedy had put up with her for so long.

"Ms. Rosenberg, Mr. Angel would like to see you." The secretary sent a message through the phone. Willow sat her glass down, the perils of letting someone get you a secretary; they were actually that person's spies.

"Thank you." She said, her voice a little too harsh. She sat her glass down, and glanced around the room. The one picture frame she had Angel had bought for her and contained the picture from the store. The only other decoration was the bottle of brandy on top of the liquor cabinet. She closed her eyes, trying to remember who she had been thirteen years ago, but it wouldn't come to her.

She got up, the rolling chair squeaking as she pushed off it. The shutters opened with a loud clash, and Willow stopped frowning for a second when she saw her secretary jump. The door flew open, and Willow walked through it, allowing her magic to let it slam shut. She went to the secret elevator shaft, the one that went to Angel's office directly, if you couldn't make a door with magic like Willow could. It usually caught him off guard, and she never had to wait.

She was there in five seconds, and when the door beeped and came open, Angel was standing there waiting, a sad look on his face. "You weren't gone for as long as I'd hoped you'd be." He said. She handed him the wedge, noticing for the first time the name written on it, T. Maclay. She felt like she wanted to cry, but she hadn't done that in three years.

Angel's face became even sadder, "You had a drink." It wasn't a question.

"I don't know why you send me there every year. It never helps. My resistance is starting to give, and I don't know if I can stand seeing Faith like that again, and Fred, Fred is so . . . Fred is broken, Angel." Willow stepped out of the elevator, and into his office.

"Is she that bad?" Willow nodded, "I haven't been to see her since it happened. I guess she won't remember me now. Does she know she was a Doll?"

"I don't know how, but yes. Angel, how did everything get so screwed up? I used to be . . . you know." Willow tried gesturing with her hands.

"A redhead?" Angel tried to smile, but the joke brought tears to Willow's eyes.

"Yes! God, I used to be a redhead, and not an alcoholic, and in love, and a good person. What happened to me? It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to watch their backs for five years, and then they would all come back, and we could go back to normal. This is not what I wanted, Angel."

"I know." Was all he said.

"I wish that I could have just taken that Active, and never come back. I had her. In my arms, kissing me, even stuttering at the appropriate times, but I only had her for a moment. Then my conscience kicked in." Angel gave her an apologetic look. "Yeah, I know, stupid conscience. You think I wouldn't have one by now."

"If you ever lost your conscience, Buffy would kill me." Angel replied.

"Yeah? She might kill you anyways." Willow saw the look of hurt on Angel's face, but did nothing to ease his mind. "Anyways, I think I'm going to take the rest of the day off."

"Are you sure?" Angel asked, his voice soft. He knew that Willow was just as lonely at home as she was here.

"Yes. I've had enough of today." She walked to the secret elevator, and opened the doors. "Oh, and Angel. I want her fired."

"Who?"

"You know, the secretary. I don't like her. Too perky." Willow said as an explanation.

"Tammy is too perky for you? She was the least perky I could find." Angel said.

"Oh, is that her name." Willow paused. "I want her gone Angel."

"Alright, fine." He sighed.

The next day, Tammy, her secretary, was gone.


	4. Chapter Four

She couldn't sleep.

It had been that way for a while now. She always felt tired, until her head hit the pillow, and then she was wide awake. She thought that it might have been a side effect of her ever growing powers, but that's what she told her self, when she wanted to feel better. She knew that it was because there was no one in the bed with her.

Ever since Kennedy had left, she hadn't been able to sleep more than an hour a day, and it was never restful. She always seemed to wake up more tired than before, and dripping with cold sweat that reminded her of the terrors she had faced in that short time.

Tonight, however, she would get no sleep. She threw the sheets off of her body, and went to the closet to dress. She avoided mirrors now, and she knew that she could just will herself into different clothes, but there was something about dressing that seemed to keep her grounded, now that she had lost everything else.

The black dress that she chose had once been a different color, but she couldn't remember what that color was. She could feel the painful memory of where the dress had come from, waiting to rush through her mind, but she kept it locked away, not caring now. It was black, and it matched her hair.

She strode into the night, the chill in the air barely crossing her mind, and made her way to Wolfram and Hart. She could sense Angel's thoughts when they lingered on her, and she wanted to know what he was thinking about. She thought she knew, sporadic as they were, and full of angst.

The parking garage was full of Angel's cars, but she passed them and headed for the elevator, throwing the doors of it open with a thought, and making it rise as soon as she entered it. She was almost to his office/penthouse before the elevator realized it should shut the doors, and then she was there, standing behind his desk.

She could smell the blood.

There was no trail, she noticed, and that was good. The messier it was the harder it became to cover it up. When she reached the door to his bedroom, she found herself pause, and try to push the face of a redheaded teenager out of her head, who kept whispering, _'This is your fault'._ For some reason, it took longer than the elevator doors.

She managed to get rid of the head, but the words still seemed to ring in her ears, but she pushed the door open anyways.

It looked like a massacre.

It always did on the first glance, but Willow soon recognized the tell tale signs of Angel's fury. Even in the moonlight, blood could be seen, but perhaps that was just part of her powers. Angel had sensed her coming, and he was curled in a ball in the corner next to the door. In the opposite corner, by the window, shining in the moonlight was the body, if it could be called that.

The corpse was ravaged, the throat torn out, the intestines spilled everywhere . . . Willow looked away.

Angel looked remarkably clean. He always did. The only sign of his work was the bow tie of his tuxedo, which was at an odd angle. That, and he wouldn't look at her face.

All of the sudden, Willow realized she had been holding her breath, and let it out. Relief flooded out of her lungs, but just as quickly, the vile smell of death rushed in. It almost made her eyes water, if there had been any water left in them.

Willow looked at Angel again, and then grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into the other room, where she could breath more easily. He didn't fight her, but whined as he was pulled away from the blood.

When the door to the other room was shut, and Angel was sitting in his chair behind his desk, he finally looked at her, standing a few feet away from his desk forlornly. "Willow." He breathed barely loud enough to hear, but she did.

Willow looked back towards the door, hearing the voice in her head, whispering, '_This is your fault'._ Trying to cut it out, she spoke. "You should have called me earlier."

He grimaced. "I thought it would be different this time. It had been so long since . . ." He trailed off.

"Three months and sixteen days. I know, but you should have called me earlier." She repeated.

"I . . . I didn't want you to know." Angel looked away from her face, seemingly ashamed. "That was stupid, though. You always know."

_'This is your fault' _"So do you, though I haven't killed anyone in a very long time." She wasn't sure why she had expected that to cheer him, but it failed miserably. He closed his eyes, and grimaced, recalling all that he did. She took a step towards him, but stopped.

She wasn't afraid, but there were some things that you had to get through on your own. He didn't seem to notice her indecision.

He cleared his throat, and opened his eyes to look into hers, and in them she could see all that he had hoped for and all that he had lost, but it was gone just as quickly. "If you're ready, I'm sending you to another Dollhouse. I thought it might be nice to see an old friend."

"Besides Tara?" She whispered, but he grimaced as if he'd heard her.

"You will be using, Ms. Maclay's wedge for the demonstration." She sighed, but he ignored it. "Here is your ticket, and instructions, to be opened on the plane, you know the drill. Do you have any questions?"

Willow shook her head. She never did.

"Alright. I'll see you when you get back then." He said, standing up. His gaze fell on the door to his bedroom.

Then she was worried. "You'll be able to take care of that?" She asked. He nodded. She waited to see if his eyes told the same story, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Okay." She walked back towards the elevator, thinking about what she had seen in his eyes earlier, and then stopped and turned back to him as the elevator beeped open.

He was facing the door, his face a mask of fear, and she had no words of comfort for him, only, "We all want the release, Angel, but you can't have Angelus." She saw his head swing around, shock in his eyes, but she was already gone.


	5. Chapter Five

Las Vegas.

Willow had only been there one other time, and she didn't care to remember it. Even now, as she got off the plane, the desert air hit her hard, causing her to sneeze. It wasn't a strange place to have a Dollhouse, but the last time Willow had come she had promised never to set foot there again.

But here she was. Black haired, depressed, and a little drunk. The car was waiting for her outside the baggage claim. She hadn't brought any baggage, not physically anyways, but the car driver stood there anyway, holding a sign that read 'Ms. Rosenberg.' It was all going according to plan, until the driver pulled out a gun.

They were alone in the car, and in the middle of nowhere. Willow hadn't been paying attention to where they were headed, and she had let herself be dragged out into the desert by some man, who was holding a gun to her.

"Tell me everything you know about the Dollhouse!" He yelled at her. She wasn't afraid; she hardly ever was these days.

She looked at the man, who was leaning through the open car door, the gun pointed right at her face, and she spoke, "Why?"

The gun lowered a little, and he looked confused. "What?"

"Why do you want to know about the Dollhouse? Why do you care?" She asked.

"I'm uh, well, I'm trying to find this girl. She- "

Willow cut him off. "You can't pay for her?" The man looked appalled. "You know the Dollhouse deals in needs right?"

The man looked away, and turned back, seemingly frustrated, "Just tell me about the Dollhouse! Where is it?"

"I don't know." Willow stated.

"What do you mean you don't know? You are Willow Rosenberg, right?" The man asked.

"Would it matter if I said no?" He frowned. "Yes, I am Willow Rosenberg." She held out her hand, "Who are you?"

The man looked from her face, to her hand, and back to her face, and then he dropped the gun. "Paul."

"It's nice to meet you Paul. Now, if you tell me about this girl, maybe I can help you." Willow didn't think she'd be able to, but she did have a lot of money just sitting around in off shore accounts.

"Her name is Caroline Farrell." Willow thought that sounded familiar, but couldn't place it. "I think she's been abducted by the LA Dollhouse, but I don't know how to find it."

Willow sighed. "Look, Paul, all the men and women who have come to the Dollhouse have signed contracts stating that they came of their own free will. If they have now free will during that time, it doesn't matter, they've agreed to that. Why are you looking for this girl in Las Vegas if she's in LA?"

"I heard about you. You're from Wolfram and Hart, but no one could really tell me what you did, and I kept hearing strange things about you and the Dollhouse. I figured it was worth a try." Paul looked tired.

"Where's the driver?"

"In the trunk."

"Oh." Willow felt no pressing need to get the actual driver out, but she knew she had to be somewhere. "Look, Paul, I'll help you when I get back to LA, but right now I have some important business to attend to, so I'll get the driver to drop you off at the airport, and I'll contact you when I return. Does that sound alright to you?" Paul nodded. "Alright."

Willow stepped out of the car, and then knocked Paul unconscious with a thought. She stepped over him, and went to the trunk, where the driver was just waking up. "Ms. Rosenberg?" He asked groggily, "Ms. Rosenberg, are you alright?" He asked, remembering his run in with Paul.

"I can handle myself. Now, could we please drop this man off at the airport, and then make our way to the Dollhouse, I have an appointment to make."

"Of course, Ms. Rosenberg, right away." The driver hopped out of the trunk, and helped Willow pull Paul into the back with her. It hadn't taken her very much energy to make the driver forget who Paul was, or that his head had a large bump on it.

They made their way back to the airport, and Willow tried to think about the girl Paul had talked about, Caroline Farrell. She still didn't remember, until she and the driver had dumped Paul off on a bench outside the airport, waking him up with a thought, and sending him a time and place to meet her.

And then, Paul was gone.


	6. Chapter Six

It was dark in car. The driver had hit a button, and now Willow couldn't see out side the car window, and no light was getting in. It was standard protocol. She'd been through it all before, but last time, she had been a very different person, and there had been other people in the car with her.

The driver said something about it not being very much longer, but she could only make a non-committal sound in response. She didn't want to get there. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to see her.

It had been a long time since she had seen a Summers.

The car stopped, and a few seconds later, the door to the car opened. Light spilled in, almost blinding her, but it wasn't too much light, and her eyes adjusted quickly. She stepped out of the car, hoping that he wouldn't be there.

He wasn't. Instead, she found a man in a grey pin striped suit standing under a flickering parking garage light. It was an odd place to stand. None of the other lights in the garage were flickering, and it wasn't relatively close, so why would he stand there? She didn't dwell on it for very long.

"Ms. Rosenberg," He held out his hand, "It's a pleasure to have you here."

Willow shook hands with him, trying to suppress her frown. "It's been a while Mr. Reynolds."

Reynolds took his hand back, and clasped it together with the other. "I suppose I can't interest you in a drink, later of course?"

Willow stared at him. It had only happened once, and it had been her weakest moment. "I don't think so, Mr. Reynolds."

Reynolds looked hurt, but continued anyway. "Very well, let's get this over with, I'm sure you are eager to go home." He turned, not giving her a second glance, and started for the elevator. It was a short uncomfortable ride, but she made it to the top, and they were soon standing on the floor of the Las Vegas Dollhouse.

It was different than the LA Dollhouse, more Western, but still very serene. The walls were all wooden, there were warm fireplaces located in sporadic positions, and Willow thought she saw a desert garden with cacti in it. It was different, but Willow could see that it was every bit as serene as the LA Dollhouse.

Reynolds turned to her. "You have arrived a bit later than expected Ms. Rosenberg. Would it be all right if we waited until the morning to resume the demonstration." Willow looked at Reynolds. He was utterly serious.

"I suppose that would be all right." She answered.

Reynolds smiled. "Very good. We have had guest chambers made up for you, if you'll follow me, I can escort you-"

"I'm sure you have many things to attend to Mr. Reynolds. Some one else can escort me." Willow cut him off. She didn't want to end up in a room alone with him again.

Reynolds was biting his lip, but then he remembered something. "Call Mr. Harris down here, please." He said to someone. Willow's breath caught in her throat. "I'm sure he will be here soon, now, if you'll excuse me, Ms. Rosenberg, I have many things to attend to." He walked away, but Willow barely noticed.

She didn't want to see him, not like this. They hadn't spoken since Kennedy left her, and they hadn't seen each other since she had left him here. She couldn't let him see her, not like this. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't –

"Willow."

The voice sounded scared, nervous, but it was utterly his voice. She turned around slowly, wondering what he would think, what he would say. Wondering if the alcohol was still on her breath.

There he was, standing there, wide-eyed, in a suit, with a silk eye patch, but still the same. Still Xander.

'_They can never know, Willow.' _

The words came unbidden into her head, and Willow stopped herself from running to him, from rapping her arms around him, from saying his name. People, none of whom Willow knew, surrounded them and she couldn't take the chance, not today, not here.

"Mr. Harris." Xander's mouth fell open, but she ignored it. "I was told you were going to show me to my room?" She asked.

He closed his mouth, but didn't look happy about it. "Of course, Will - Ms. Rosenberg, follow me."

They made it into the elevator alone, but she couldn't be sure. "Willow, what's going on?" Xander asked.

"We can't talk here."

"Where can we talk?" He looked at her, and she barely resisted the urge to hug him again.

"We can't talk anywhere."

The elevator opened into a penthouse like suite. Xander practically pushed her out of the elevator. "Here you go. Make your self at home." He grumbled, angrily. The elevator shut before Willow could say anything.

And then, Xander was gone.


	7. Chapter Seven

Willow knew it was a bad idea, she knew it in the bottom of what she now considered a very twisted, shallow soul, but she continued anyways. The walk was longer than expected, the security of the dollhouse was harder to evade than expected, however she made it all the way there. Through the door, up the elevator, and down the hall, until she stood at the plain brown rectangle, which stood between her and her past, for she stood in front of Xander's apartment.

She stood there for maybe five minutes, just staring at the door, thinking that maybe he wasn't really mad at her, but the fact that she hadn't talked to him except for tonight, or was it last night, for two years made her reconsider her reasoning. He was mad, and she struggled to forget why everyday.

Later, she considered that knocking on the door would have been a better plan of action, but she didn't. Instead she magically undid the lock on the door, not even really thinking about it, and slipped through the door.

The main room of the apartment was surprisingly bright for what time it was, and she had trouble adjusting her eyes to the unexpected condition, so she stood waiting, and while she did that, she listened. She knew what she was hearing, and it wasn't something she had ever wanted to hear that involved Xander.

She acted quickly, deciding to say something before she could fully see again. "Hello, Xander?" Xander cursed under his breath, and Willow heard a women ask him if he had invited guests.

Her vision finally adjusted, and she was thankful for an instant that the two lovers were behind the couch. Xander's head popped up from behind it, "Willow? What the hell are you doing here?" He sounded angry and upset, and maybe a little guilty.

"Willow!" The women's voice sounded from behind the couch. "I haven't seen her in forever." The statement confused Willow even further when the woman's head pocked of the couch, revealing a mass of brown hair, even set green eyes, and a freckle covered flushed face. Despite Willow's knowledge that she had never seen the woman before, Willow thought there was something familiar about her facial expressions and bearing, but couldn't place it.

"Xander, I don't want to have a threesome with her." The woman stated bluntly, and Willow was slightly offended, the brown haired woman wasn't at all ugly, and had Willow not known that Xander was sitting next to her naked, she might have thought about the woman in a more sexual way, as it was, Willow was still a bit in shock that Xander was there at all.

He was groping about for what Willow assumed was clothes as he answered, "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of it." Willow spotted what looked like men's pants next to her foot, so she picked them up and threw them towards the one-eyed man.

"Looking for these?" She asked. He nodded and let out a gruff noise. After putting the pants on, he stood up from behind the couch and grabbed his shirt, which he threw to the woman.

As she put it on he looked to Willow, "What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you." She replied almost hurt by his angry tone.

"You told me there was no place we could talk. That it wasn't safe."

"I didn't know if anyone could hear us, and if someone could I wanted them to think our relationship was over." She paused. "You played along perfectly."

"I wasn't playing along."

At this point the woman interrupted again. "Xander, I'm mad at her. She missed our wedding, why are you letting her stay here?"

Willow's jaw would have dropped if that statement had been said five years ago, as it was she was just a little peeved by the woman's constant interruptions. "I didn't receive an invitation." She informed the woman hoping to shut her up.

"Of course you did. I wrote them myself. I made sure to include all of the Scoobies." Willow was suddenly nervous, this woman knew far too much already about the past she was trying to hide, and Willow didn't like it.

"Go in the other room." Xander suddenly commanded, and his voice rang with an authority Willow hadn't known he had.

"But Xand – "

"I said, go!" The woman scurried away reluctantly, Xander's shirt barely covering the parts of her that needed to be covered.

"Xander, what the hell are you doing, getting married, telling a random woman who and what we were what were you – " He cut her off; the simple expression of guilt on his face told her everything.

"She's Anya." And later Willow could recall who had said it.

Willow let out the breath she had been holding, and fell down onto the couch. Surprisingly Xander came and sat beside her. Not too close, but not too far away either. Neither of the said any thing for a moment, and the Xander spoke, " I couldn't help myself. It was only supposed to be once, and then . . . we were married, and I was taking her home once a week. Reynolds told me it was alright as long as I paid, and never got close to her when she wasn't mine to . . ." He trailed off.

"I understand." Willow said after a while, and Xander seemed relieved. "Every year, I go and see Tara, and every year it gets harder and harder not to pay for the doll, take her home, and do naughty things with her for a night. Angle keeps telling me I should, but . . . I don't think Tara would approve."

"I don't think Anya would care." Xander said, but then, "Or at least that's what I tell myself." He grimaced. "You're going to have to leave now. It's late, and I'm sure we both have early starts tomorrow."

"I'm glad we talked. I've missed you, and I'm glad we can still be friends." Willow spoke without think, and for a moment her past had stopped haunting her.

Xander's expression hardened, "We aren't friends Willow. As bad as this thing I've created is, what you did to Kennedy . . . I can't believe you are even the same person I knew five years ago."

Willow was struck numb by Xander's open scorn, and she continued to try to ignore what he was saying, trying to block out the memory. She succeeded partially, and excused her self from the apartment.

And then, the doll that was Anya, was gone.


End file.
